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Post-Boomershoot thoughts from Ms. Cyborg. . .
For an entire year, there’s a deep longing within me to play with the long
range super cool high tech dope scope precision rifles of Boomershoot. I dream
about it. I lust for it. I envision the sights and sounds in my mind almost
every day: The fire. The blasts. The ground. . . it shakes.
Yawn. I know. Such focus is the standard everyday desire of most any 32 year old
woman. . .
Anyway, in anticipation of using my pal’s .50 BMG fun gun at Boomershoot this
spring, prior to my departure to Idaho, I cleaned out my savings account to
order a few boxes of .50 ammo. I’d arranged to have the rounds shipped to their
final destination, close to the range, rather than drag the brass bad boys along
with me on my journey through several airports. Dealing with the
hassle/suspicion/fruition of unwanted attention/inspection from Homeland
Insecurity just isn’t my cup of tea.
But I digress. Getting into the politics anything anti-gun, anti-ammo, or
anti-terrorism isn’t the mission of this particular missive. Excuse my tangent.
Back to the story. . .
So there I was at Boomershoot., with the bright neon orange .50 ammo boxes
neatly placed on the ground before me. I dropped my walking cane, fell to my
knees, and, in awe, lifted the box towards the sky using both hands. (I’m a
strong gal but .50 cal is heavy!)
Before I broke the holy seal, I took a moment to stop and smell the flowers, in
deep appreciation of the moment. You see, holding a box of 20 rounds of .50 is
much like holding a box of the world’s finest French chocolates: It’s precious.
Special. Sacred. You must savor those few seconds, for you know the delicious
nuggets will soon be consumed in a flash.
I cracked the box seal, grabbed a round, and, thanks to a little help from my
friend, carefully loaded the mother machine of mathematical beauty. I’m no gun
guru -- and I’m *certainly* no .50 guru, so when it comes to firearms I’m
unfamiliar with, I need all the help I can get from a pro.
And then, the moment I’d been waiting for. . . Body prone, in a somewhat yoga
cobra position, on the ground, in the damp dirt, nestled in the breathtaking
mountains of Idaho. Eye on the scope. Ready to shoot. Finger on the trigger.
I am Superwoman, hear me roar, watch my bullet soar!
A pull of the trigger and bang!
Dang. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The bullet was gone, but I didn’t care
whether or not I hit a target. I was more concerned about my body. The intense
recoil jabbed my right shoulder, hitting the spot where I’d previously underwent
major surgery a few years earlier. I thought my bionic body was fixed, and
healed, back to 100%, and ready to fire big guns.
Not so. Furthermore, the hefty recoil compressed my vertebrae. The nerve
compression instantaneously left my right arm and finger feeling numb, just like
the old days.
These weren’t Boomershoot injuries – Boomershooting is an extraordinarily safe
recreational sport. Rather, it was an enlightening moment that my body had
permanently changed, and my body was different than the average person, and it
was fine time for me to accept and adapt to that, rather than fight the
inevitable.
Over the years, I’ve suffered (survived) and recovered from a wide array of
unfortunate medical conditions, most of which affect my neurological system.
Chronic pain is the name of the game. Gun events attract people like me, for
shooting is one of the few sports that doesn’t require participants to stand on
two feet, throw balls, jump up and down, balance on a beam, speedwalk,
aerobicize, run in circles, or twist one’s spine to swing a golf club.
But sadly, on April 30, 2006, I realized that would probably be the last time in
my life I’d ever shoot a .50. Saying farewell to the big gun was long overdue.
Now, this could be a sad ending to the sappy story of Superwoman’s demise. But
the reality is, I hobbled away from my shooting position, incredibly joyful.
To be brought back to a cheerful reality, all I had to do was scan the sights
and sounds of surrounding shooters and spectators.
You see, the beauty of Boomershoot is not just about the big bangs, big booms,
or big guys with their big guns. The true beauty of Boomershoot is the daylong
happiness you see, everywhere you look. From down range to up range, there’s
more laughter and happiness on Boomershoot Day than there is in any comedy club
in L.A.
At Boomershoot, adults act like kids again: Unconstrained reactions of glee.
Giggles. Beaming smiles. Shouts. Claps. High-fives. Woo-hoos.
My heart did sink when I said goodbye to the .50, for I knew that aspect of my
life was permanently over. But the next day when I got on the plane to return
home, I was fresh with the Boomershoot afterglow perma-smile on my face. I’d
already begun making plans for Boomershoot 2007, looking forward to connecting
with the interesting, bright, kind people that make Boomershoot shine.